


Not An Addict

by septemberprudence



Category: Formula 1 RPF
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-20
Updated: 2015-12-20
Packaged: 2018-05-07 21:26:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,612
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5471318
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/septemberprudence/pseuds/septemberprudence
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>For the longest time, it was what they did: break up, get back together, break up. </p>
<p>For an anon on tumblr who requested angsty Lewis/Nico sex.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Not An Addict

For the longest time, it was what they did: break up, get back together, break up. "You can't resist me, can you?" Lewis would tease on the good days, the rare occasions that they were actually happy together.

Nico would shrug in response, that haughty little look on his face, the one that drove Lewis wild. "You're very easy to resist," he'd say, a smile hovering at the edges of his mouth, his eyes alight with barely concealed laughter. "Quite resistable."

"Come on, man," Lewis would reply, elbowing him in the ribs, "you know you want it." 

"Define 'it'," Nico said, pretending not to understand, but then he'd burst into a wide, joyful grin, rolling over on top of Lewis and kissing him until they were both dizzy.

When it was good, it was _so_ good, but it didn't last. 

It never lasted.

In no time they'd be back to sniping spitefully at one another, the petty resentments and glowering anger building until Lewis would say, "I can't do this anymore," and shake his head. "I can't deal with you when you're like this."

"Fine," Nico would reply. "Don't then." He'd slam the door of Lewis' apartment behind him, and that would be that. Until next time.

It was hard, with so much history between them. Lewis remembers the way they used to laugh together in the back seat of the car, their dads in the front. Sometimes after a race they'd drive home in the dark, trophies stowed safely beside them, the two of them faking sleep. A blanket covered their laps, Nico's head resting on Lewis' shoulder. He'd try and keep his breath even and steady, biting his lip, desperate to stay quiet as Nico's hand crept up his thigh, snaking inside his sweat pants. He thinks of it, the smell of sweat in Nico's hair, the glare of the headlights of passing cars sliding gracefully across his face in an endless, illuminated caress.

He was so beautiful sometimes Lewis couldn't stand to look at him.

Even now, it can still shock him. A sideways glance across to the other side of the garage, or standing together for the usual post-quali photograph. Lewis sees him out of the corner of his eye, arm raised for the camera, fake smile plastered on over that perpetually smug look. Lewis feels heat flare within him, never sure if it's anger or lust, whether he wants to hit Nico or kiss him.

_Both_ , is of course the answer, but what he does is walk away.

They used to get back together, break up, get back together. _Used to_ , because although they've stopped breaking up, it's only because they've stopped getting back together. They're both too old, too bitter to any longer pretend there's a chance of them ever making it. Happy endings aren't for people like them. They barely even speak anymore.

But they still fuck. There's that, at least.

Nico is the only person Lewis lets fuck him. Nico is the only person who has _ever_ fucked Lewis.

"I'm one hundred percent top, man," he tells anyone else, the other people he takes to his bed. "Take it or leave it, that's just the way I am." The guys are mostly friends of friends, high-class hangers on who know to expect they'll be bottoming, and the girls don't care. Some of them might get pissed that he'll only ever fuck them in the ass, but there are plenty who are happy to get some world champion dick any way they can.

And yeah, it's good, but it's not the same. There's always that itch, the dull ache of emptiness. Sometimes he'll do someone from behind, so he can reach around himself and get a couple of fingers in, close his eyes and try not to think about how much better it would feel if it was Nico's cock inside him.

He can only resist for so long, and one night after a few drinks, he gives in, texting Nico the current alarm code so he can let himself in. By the time he arrives, Lewis is lying naked in the middle of his bed, spread out on crisp, pale sheets, hand stroking up and down his hard cock.

Nico doesn't say anything, but he stands at the foot of the bed, watching.

"Is that new?" he finally asks, gesturing at Lewis' wrist. There's a fresh tattoo there; only a small one, just something Lewis had done to fill in one of the few empty spaces in the sleeve on his right arm. No one else has even noticed it.

"Yeah," he says, running the fingers of his other hand down over the image. The skin is still very slightly raw, pleasingly sensitive under the touch.

"Oh." Nico's upper lip curls in barely concealed disgust.

"You don't like it?"

"You used to have such beautiful skin," Nico says, and Lewis would like to believe there's a wistfulness to the words, a hint of nostalgia.

"Still do, babe," he replies.

Nico scowls at him. "Don't call me that."

Lewis laughs, pleased to have hit a nerve. "So, you gonna stand there all night or you gonna fuck me, _babe?"_

Nico kicks off his shoes, but doesn't remove any of his clothes, doesn't even loosen his jeans, climbing on to the bed, between Lewis' legs. He licks briefly around the base of Lewis' cock and then moves further down, tonguing at his balls. He mouths them; warm, soft lips sliding over sensitive skin. Lewis keeps up with his grooming, stays waxed, and he tells himself it's vanity, but of course, it's for _this_ , the feeling so tender and raw it makes him tremble with need.

Nico takes it slow, and by the time his mouth closes over Lewis' cock, Lewis can barely stop himself from thrusting up and in, just taking it, but that's not how this works. Nico circles his tongue around the head, moving up and down, his rhythm perfect, every sweet spot mapped with unnerving precision after all these years and Lewis is just settling in, well on the way when Nico suddenly, abruptly _stops_.

"What the hell?" Lewis snaps.

"Say _please,"_ Nico tells him. "Beg me."

"No fucking way," Lewis says, and Nico stands up, not even hesitating.

"Fine," he says. "Then don't." It's a game, a dance, and it's always the same. How far can they push each other and who will concede first? On the track, Lewis knows, Nico is the one who will back off when taken right to the edge, but here, things are not so clear.

Nico is halfway out the bedroom door when Lewis finally says, "Come on, man, don't be like that."

Nico halts, turning back. "Say it," he commands, his eyes cold, face hard with tension.

Lewis sighs, rolling his eyes. _"Please,"_ he says. He means it, but makes sure he sounds as insincere as possible. Nico doesn't reply, but it must be good enough because he heads straight for the drawer where Lewis keeps the condoms and lube.

Nico unzips his jeans, taking out his cock, rolling on a condom and slicking himself up "Turn over," he says, because that's how they always do it. That's how they both prefer it now. It's been a long, long time since they could bear to look each other in the eye as they fuck.

Lewis rolls on to his stomach, grunting in impatience as two cool, slim fingers slide inside him. "Just do it," he says. "I don't need that, you know I can take it."

"I know," replies Nico, but he doesn't stop, now using three fingers, fucking slowly in and out, curling up at _just_ the right angle every time or two, unhurriedly and relentlessly wearing down the few defenses Lewis still has left, leaving him writhing on the bed, helpless.

He closes his eyes, because even without being able to see Nico, he can _feel_ it, the way he's looking at him, the triumph that will be in his gaze as he watches Lewis fall apart, breaking open with desire.

And then at _last_ , Nico's weight settles down on him, his cock thickly satisfying as it pushes inside. Lewis moans; an embarrassingly undignified sound, almost pathetically desperate, because this is what he's been waiting for.

Nothing but this.

He tries to hang on as Nico fucks him, make it last, because even in the middle of it, somewhere far away, he knows that the second they're done, the shame will start. It's like hitting a wall, the way the humiliation rushes in on him. The fact that he _needs_ this, that he so willingly allows it to happen.

He comes, they both come, Nico with one last vicious thrust and Lewis with a loud, gasping cry.

He's famous, he's rich, he can have everything he wants.

_Almost_ everything. Everything except Nico, and the worst of it is that without him, the rest is utterly meaningless. Recognition, fortune, success, championships, all of it.

"I don't think we should do this anymore," Lewis says, turning over on to his back.

"God, you're so fucking _predictable,"_ says Nico, the derision in his voice palpable as he pulls up his jeans, looks around for his shoes. "You say that every time."

"So?"

"So get over yourself." 

"This time I mean it," Lewis replies.

"Yeah," says Nico. "Sure." He doesn't look back as he walks out, just says, "Call me whenever," with a dismissive wave over his shoulder.

Lewis hears the door of the apartment close, but he doesn't move. He should get up and shower, call someone, maybe go out. Do _something_ , anything.

Anything but this.


End file.
